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“No.” I said watching his eyes narrow. I contradicted myself numerous times we must have been suffering from the same whiplash.
His hand tangled in my hair, a thumb brushing back and forth against the shell of my ear, calming me. The stupid orange scrubs glowed bright reminding me why I was here to begin with. Shame filtered through the fragmented thoughts of need and desire.
“Nene, hear me out.” Cohen spoke low.
“What are we doing?” His chest touched mine and my breasts ached, my heart threatening to break free from its cage it was beating so hard.
He chuckled.
“Well, we’re about to make out but I had something else in mind, unless you want to go back and forth about this again.”
I blushed, thinking about limbs tangled in a more copacetic setting, unlike this one.
“I meant—” I was afraid he misunderstood, but he was ahead of me already.
“I know, Nene. I want to have someone I trust look over your case.” He implored looking my face over, his lips hovering closer. I could smell his clean breath and I closed my eyes whining.
“Cohen, I’ve already been convicted.”
Brows raised, he asked the question. “Yeah, but you didn’t do it. Right?” I feared he wouldn’t believe me.
“The judge and the state.” I needed to—no, I wanted to argue with him because it seemed so implausible.
“Did you do it?” He shook me until I looked him in the eyes, mine hazel into his blue, transfixed on a painful truth.
With conviction, I said, “No, I didn’t kill Grant Espina.”
“Then, Nene, it’s not impossible. Don’t give up on this before it’s even begun.” He ordered gaze searing into mine.
“But Warden Shep…” Using his free hand, he put a finger to my lips, and a frown marred his face.
“Call me Cohen. In here and in private, you call me Cohen.”
“Cohen.” His name was soft sounding, an elixir to the roughness around me. I kept my focus on him, wondering how crazy I must be to trust this stranger with my life and his body standing between my legs. I didn’t think I could be this impulsive but prison taught me to grasp what moments of freedom and escape I could from this place either mentally or physically in Cohen’s arms. I convinced myself this was just an escape. An interlude in my sentence. One time.
“Nene.” He reached down between us, and his fingers found their way to the elastic band around my waist. Slipping past the offending scrub like garments, he trailed lower until the pads of his fingers met my slit. I hadn’t felt a jolt like that in all my years, not from the rough pawing of boys I casually dated to my own clumsy ministrations in the dark. Cohen was sure and steady, using that thick digit to circle the bundle of nerves between my wet lips, pinching the pearl. My eyes rolled back, and I fell hard under his spell, needing everything he would give me and more.
“Sweet, innocent, Nene.” He growled so low that my mouth dropped open, my jaw to my chest as he plunged inside pulling me close to him, the barest of space between us, and my head tilting back on my own moan. He felt thick, good, and deep as my walls clutched him. A chuckle escaped my lips knowing this was only his finger and not the main event I was panting for.
“I’m not so innocent.” As multiple kisses peppered my throat, my hands supporting me on the desk shook with the effort it took to maintain my position.
“Not anymore you’re not.” Desire laced through me followed by a flash of guilt. This was wrong, yet I couldn’t stop myself.
“Cohen.”
“What baby?” Fingers pumped deep, spearing me apart. I would be sore later, my body unprepared and wet but not yet there. It had been a good long while since I fooled around with anyone. In the time I’d been here, I never attempted to ease the ache in my bed alone, fearing I would be caught. I didn’t need anymore hazing from the inmates. His finger slipped out, and with it, a rush of dewy juice that coated his digits. Our eyes locked, and I watched him, transfixed, as he sucked on those same fingers tasting me, and keeping them wet. Cohen used the slickness from both of us to coat between my thighs spreading it out and rubbing back and forth pressing in with a second finger stretching me to accommodate him.
“Kiss me, make me forget.” I craved oblivion and if he offered it, I would take it any way I could. I would let Cohen be my ultimate drug, my addiction.
“I’ll do more than make you forget.” His lips seared mine, I tasted tart and musk as his tongue plunged deeper with each shared breath. He pulled me up to reach him, his fingers sinking deep down below. His hand against my neck pulled me in a pumping motion against him. The power of his grip around me was more than I could bear. I flew over the edge, whimpering into his kiss. He sucked at my lips and licked my unexpected tears away. The sensation was too much and yet enough to see me through.
“Nene let me help you.” I came crashing back down to reality when a knock sounded at the door. I pushed back from him, and he let me slip away to adjust my clothes.
“Warden Shepard.” The voice belonged to Garcia on the other side of the door. I gasped. Cohen growled.
“Just a minute,” he shouted, further jarring me back to a place I didn’t want to be. Back to prison.
“Cohen, I mean, Warden Shepard…” I corrected myself feeling self-conscious with the sticky dampness clinging to my thighs fearful it would stain through and everyone would know what happened here this afternoon.
